In March

Spring in the creek


In March
the clouds break
for half an hour or so
spilling bright blue ink over pale snow

In March
the creeks begin to run
melt and mud and mess
down from old man winter’s tin shed roof

In March
the children rush
laughter echoing the sun’s
into water higher than their boots

Lindsey Gallant
Seeker of God in the ordinary, bearer of beautiful news, pilgrim on a life of prayer.

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